Gareth Lee

La-La Land (Say Good-bye)
New Poems From the USA


Now in each of our throats, a knot
of apples, in situ like academies
our collective spirit flags, and in
grave dispute, I make morning
coffee. Naked walk a few hermit
crabs where our footprints easily
go, breeze-blown, heaped under
themselves. So we lumped in some
stupor those dreams we thought
were too old to function. We gave
them leave. The question does
remain. Will our hands dissolve
and our grasp of transport theory.
Will discipline alone fill our five-
year plan’s quota for reputable
wine. For guests, they come to us
when our eyelids are gummed
together, on the weekend, on days,
nights; come from a bus drawl
across vapid country. And here
the water rises like ardor and it
seems enough. But these apples
will grow roots and rot. We know
it to be a popular theory. I move
we broaden our knowledge base
and then go public, we with our
eidolons and what else do we owe
Whitman, lying here in our socks.